


A ɪs ꜰᴏʀ Aᴘᴘʟᴇ.

by trashikino (Lefauxlucifer)



Category: Love Live! School Idol Festival (Video Game), Love Live! School Idol Project
Genre: Alphabet Soup Challenge, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-02-26 16:24:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13239546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefauxlucifer/pseuds/trashikino
Summary: ❝ An apple a day keeps the doctor away! ❞❝ I prefer tomatoes. ❞She prefers her coffee like herself: black, bitter, and way too hot for anyone.But someone's gotta be the sugar and cream to her dark roast, right?





	1. B ɪs ғᴏʀ Bʟᴏᴜsᴇ.

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhh maybe it's a little rusty but i'll edit tomorrow if it needs an extra something. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhh maybe it's a little rusty but i'll edit tomorrow if it needs an extra something. . .

Casual texting wasn’t a crucial part of Nico Yazawa’s daily routine—to be precise, she’d sent less than five thousand texts last month, and she prided herself on not abusing her unlimited texting capabilities. After all, she wasn’t at Tokyo University to tranquilly reside in the lap of luxury; no, Tokyo U was just a stepping stone on her path to stardom. . . and she wasn’t about to let anything stand between her and her sky-high aspirations. 

So when she leisurely lifts her phone and enters an absurdly-complicated passcode, she doesn’t mean to get distracted, duh. She still has five minutes until 8:30, and there’s no reason to drive herself insane until her morning lecture commences. Perhaps, she’d simply spend it writing an email to the folks who set classes so early in the day, as if her past three hundred and twenty-seven emails didn’t make her blatant ire evident enough.

But a quick text from Tsubasa changes her plans. . .her message is blunt, to the point, and yet Nico can’t help but elaborately reply. She’s just informing the ravenette that a few freshmen won’t be able to make it to their first drama practice of the season, no biggie, because Nico can totally pick up the slack for all of those loafers in a jiff, serious: Nico Yazawa is a one-woman army.

A one-woman army that prefers paragraph-texting to anything, apparently, because instead of one message, Nico’s sending content that counts for six, and then, she realizes that autocorrect is one of the few things in life that isn’t her friend, which means she has to check that text from top-to-bottom, just to make sure she doesn’t look like a complete pretentious buffoon in front of her nemesis-slash-co-president.

And just like that, her five minutes are up, and it’s not that Nico doesn’t notice, but that Nico hasn’t the urge to give a damn, because honestly, this is some dumb freshman intro course that she should’ve taken a billion semesters ago, and she’s only there because she needs to graduate. Her GPA is still on the edge of 3.50, surprising because she hardly applies herself (even though she worked her ass off to join the Fine Arts Honors program), but the bottom line is that she could barely slide by with a solid C-average in this class, and no one’d be the wiser.

She’s still got a couple offers in the ol’ mailbox, from idol groups who’d take her on, even if she didn’t graduate college. 

And to be markedly fair, Nico’s profound talent is so profoundly breathtaking that she really didn’t need to go to college. . .but Cocoro wants to be a lawyer, Cocoa wants to be a doctor, and Cotarou, an engineer. As their onee-sama, Nico’s gotta set an example, right?

Besides, a free education could hardly hurt anyone, even if they didn’t need a useless piece of paper to prove that they were every bit as endowed as they asserted themselves to be. 

Which completely explains why Nico’s staring naïvely at her phone while she’s imagining her life, just six months from now, and though no one’s interrupting her, white chalk sharply screaming against blackboard firmly displaces her daydream by the roots. Her eyes drift to the front, to discern the source of her morning’s hitches, and she lets her phone fall from her fingertips and clatter onto her wooden desk when she sees her.

She’s in the second row, so nothing she does is too noticeable, but the second her eyes catch it, her attention doesn’t waver further. 

Designer-brand jeans that hug her hips, and a scarlet leather jacket that could probably feed Nico’s family for a month, and that’s if they were driving up to high-class restaurants, the kind Nico would usually waitress in.

When the figure turns around, Nico’s promptly greeted by shimmering violet eyes, framed by skin more pristine than the five-dollar water they sell at the food court, and thick locks just a touch lighter than her outerwear. She’s heard of sleeping with your professor so you pass, but perhaps. . .Nico would make an exception, and date her just for the heck of it.

After all, she was almost half as pretty as Nico herself, and those kinds of gals are already one in a billion. Perhaps this is one lecture Nico might actually pay attention to.

Nightingale.

❝ Music theory is the instrument by which songs speak to the soul. Without it, composers and musicians would play dry, dull tunes that wouldn’t inspire even the most ardent of young minds to continue their trade. ❞

Two sentences—not even a full minute in—,and Nico’s already hooked on that sound like it’s refined, pure opium of the highest purity. She’s confused as to whether this girl’s teaching music theory, or if she came up with it herself—her voice could breathe life back into the dead, or build Rome in a day. Nico’s not interested, or anything, but she supposes that if asking a few questions could get the girl to sing, then she might actually raise her hand once in a while.

❝ So keep the great legends who came before you in mind, Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin, Lizst, Stravinsky, to name a few. There will be no grazing by, not in this class. Others may allow you to pass their class by the bare minimum, or even offer extra credit for you to graduate.

However, duly note that I am not here to make mediocre students. . .less mediocre, but great students even greater.

Some of you are here because you love to learn about various fields unrelated to your own, and others, because you simply need the credit. 

Yet a select few of you have enrolled in this course to embark on a journey to alter the musical realm for eternity. Within the first few weeks, it’ll become increasingly clear who those brilliant lights of society are.

If you wish to just make the grades, then I suggest you exit stage right. For the rest of us, you may open your textbook to page twelve. ❞

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, it’s the most compelling introduction Nico’s ever heard in her brief yet eventful university career, sharp, melodic, and commanding—the kind you couldn’t possibly ignore, and even if you could, you wouldn’t want to.

Nico’s so mesmerized by her aura that she almost doesn’t catch how seamlessly the girl removes that red leather jacket, revealing a snow-white v-neck blouse that perfectly highlighted the dips and bends of her torso, and it makes her wonder if this girl’s just an instructor, or a part-time model, because if Nico had that kind of figure, Victoria’s Secret would break down her door and beg at her feet for her to be their covergirl. 

Without her eyes leaving the blackboard, the ravenette reaches into her bag, and now, there’s a crumpled bag of Lay’s chips in her hand, now, barbeque-flavored, and she’s delicately crunching, one-by-one, because Nico’s a proper lady who doesn’t shove fistfuls of chips into her mouth, especially not when she’s being watched by a girl almost as drop-dead gorgeous as she is. 

Wait.

The lecturer’s watching her. 

With a turbulent death glare, like she hasn’t even drunk a drop of her morning coffee.

Half a chip catches in Nico’s throat, and she starts coughing like she has pneumonia, not that she knows what that is, because Nico has no need for fancy words in her brain—they’re just as useless as half of her drama troupe—, but it’s so utterly embarrassing, since Nico’s normally extremely composed and wildly confident, and she kinda wants to curl up into a ball or disappear because the prettiest girl that Nico’s ever seen (other than in the mirror) is strolling towards her at the speed of one you’re-so-dead per second and is Nico wearing cute underwear, because she’s pretty sure that the other girl can see from that angle with the alphabetical auditorium seating, now, and the last thing she wants is for her obituary to read that she died a mortified mess with not an ounce of fashion sense, right?

So it’s a tiny bit awkward when Nico’s tossed a bag of carrots and eyed curiously, as if she requires the Heimlich, when she’s clearly perfectly fine now, and did this girl just tell her to eat healthier, because, um, excuse Nico, but just who does she think she is, her doctor?

Yeah, right, Nico will shove whatever she damn wants down her throat, and no stunning girl with a stupidly-perfect figure is changing that. She might’ve given the cutie her phone number, if she’d asked nicely, but diet advice?

Nico’s so not interested, can’t she take a hint or something??

And it’s then that Nico realizes that there are these weird symbols and notations that she’s never seen before in her life, and that she doesn’t even have her textbook on her, and that she’s missed everything that flew out of the girl’s mouth because she got a little distracted by Tsubasa’s indecipherable emojis, and okay, maybe her eyes could’ve been glued to that attractive figure propped up by an impeccable fashion sense, but only for like a second, fair?

. . .Maybe a minute, if Nico’s being totally honest with herself.

But Nico’s rectifying her mistakes, of course—she’s not some loser who tells people to eat carrots instead of chips—, and so she’s opening her mouth to at least ask which page they’re on so she can go home and pretend to understand what the hell’s going on over an episode of her latest K-Drama. . .

. . .When this weird chick waltzes up outta nowhere in a polished sapphire blue dress, complete with a matching ascot, overdone make-up, and wrinkles galore. She places her hand on the hottie’s shoulders, which irritates the life out of Nico, but not really, since it’s not like she wants to feel how silky-smooth that skin must be. She’s not jealous that some wizened old hag is placing her mitts all over the second-cutest girl on campus, not at all.

❝ Maki-chan’s done a wonderful job, hasn’t she? You all should be extremely grateful to be under the tutelage of such a remarkable prodigy. Though I’m your formal instructor, she’ll be delivering the lectures and assigning your weekly exercises, since one could hardly request a better teacher, even if she is just a TA. ❞ 

Nope, she’s not at all jealous that this old bat refers to her date for Saturday night as ‘Maki-chan’, not at all resentful of the curious blush that overtakes her expression upon being praised like that, not at all trying to recall how to submit anonymous professor evaluations at the end of the semester so she can put a dent in her record. . .though if nothing else, at least she knows the girl’s name, now.

Peradventure, Nico’d know if she just bothered to read the syllabus, but she’s a busy gal, don’tcha’ know? Places to be, things to do, hearts to win, no? 

And because of Nico’s internal monologue, she still doesn’t know what’s going on, so when the professor just up and dismisses class early as a parting gift, her only choice is to hold a casual non-aggressive conversation with this Maki girl and somehow make her blush, too. Nico’s not going to be one-upped by some crone from the 1920s, no way in Hell.

So there’s not a single malicious thought in the ravenette’s mind as she struts proudly up to a group of three: a crossdresser in overalls, who’s engaged in quick, rapid-fire dialogues with a golden-haired, soft-spoken girl, and this Maki girl is distanced from both, as if she wants to take part, but her being there is really more a formality. . .though as the conversation continues, it’s clear by the way she throws her hands up in vehement protest that she’s the subject of it all—that cute blush is back, too, much to Nico’s dismay. Those other two are always hanging around each other like this in the theater hall, too, almost like they’re a couple or something. Rin and Hanayo, if she remembers correctly. 

Maki’s eyes are downcast and her attention is diverted, so it’s not really a surprise when Nico’s mouth opens and her mind searches for a great opening line, and the words that leave aren’t exactly the ones she wants to escape. . . but at least she doesn’t stutter or anything, right? A bad yet memorable first impression has to be better than zilch.

Tossing the bag of carrots back into her face, Nico tries to be as casual as humanly possible, but she just comes off as vagrantly flippant, anyways, so why even bother?

❝ Maybe take your own dumb advice, Maki-chan? Bet you could cut down on the caramel macchiatos, hm? ❞ 

Though it’s a wild guess at best, Nico assumes it’s somewhat accurate, judging by the way Maki’s fingertips curl into fists and her nose scrunches up.

❝ My counsel was perfect. Perhaps we don’t quite see eye-to-eye. . .maybe add a couple glasses of milk to your diet, then you might grow a couple inches, ❞ the redhead coolly fires back, hardly fazed. It’s astonishing how quickly she regains her composure, as if she’s had years of practice going back and forth with professional prosecutors. 

❝ If only you knew who I was. . .then you’d try to get on my good side, ❞ Nico weakly remarks, trying to save whatever face she can, tossing her head to the side and flipping her twintails in a last-ditch attempt to look cool.

❝ Why, does your father own the school?

By the looks of it, I suppose I should be afraid of you or something, right? Bet you’ve been on Santa-san’s naughty list since you were born. ❞

❝ You still believ—, ❞ Nico begins with a giggle, but Rin’s hand quickly clamps shut around her mouth, and Hanayo quietly pulls Maki away, covering her ears.

When they’re gone, Rin breathes a sigh of pure relief and bows, apologizing without restraint, clarifying Maki’s innate innocence and the pact Hanayo and her made to protect her from finding out when she wasn’t ready. The girl even calls her ‘senpai’; Nico feels powerful, but also kinda old, so she asks her to cut that out immediately. 

And then, she raises an eyebrow and purses her lips, thinking it can’t hurt to ask.

❝ So uh, this Maki girl. . .You’re friends with her, right? Is she always that. . . sensitive? ❞ flutters the inquiry from Nico’s lips, lacking a more appropriate term to use—and Nico’s never at a loss for words like that. 

Nico’s cringing even before the words leave her lips, but Maki’s reasonably attractive, and she’s kinda tired of going to bars just to have creepy guys hit on her, so, really, Maki not hating her. . . is in both of their best interests.

❝ Nah, Maki’s just a little hostile without her morning coffee, nya. . . ❞ Rin replies, her voice trailing off as she scratches her head. ❝ Anyways, I should probably head after those two; knowing them, they’re headed straight for trouble, nya. Catch you at rehearsal, Nico-senpai! ❞ 

But for the first time in her college life, out-performing Tsubasa Kira isn’t the first thing on Nico Yazawa’s mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was unaware the alphabet soup challenge already existed and i thought i actually had a decent idea for once but turns out i was wrong oh well.
> 
> tags will get updated with time, and that rating will eventually be E. . .
> 
> leave me comments if you want and i'll get back to ya' while i'm still on break.
> 
> i'msotiredwhyyyyyyyyyy.


	2. C ɪs ғᴏʀ Cᴏғғᴇᴇ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which something good actually comes out of trusting Nozomi.

Ask Nico no questions, and she’ll tell you no lies.

Her first encounters with potential love interests have never been picture-perfect, no, and this one isn’t an exception to that rule. It's anything but. 

At the very least, there weren’t any transparently _alarming_ characteristics with Maki, like ‘twas with her third girlfriend, who she quite literally picked up off the streets (the lass had a wee tolerance for alcohol, and an unmatched love of cabernet sauvignon), or her fifth girlfriend, who quite literally attempted to murder her two days after they broke up (read: that was the reason they broke up. . .Nico’s still undergoing therapy for that one, and sincerely questioning if her mind was even somewhat functional for those three weeks of her life). . .

Granted, those girls weren't nearly as _flawless_ as she was (read: the angels themselves descended from the Heavens at the moment of her birth. . .or so her mother tells her), or as brazenly ill-mannered towards her as Maki-chan was, no—they positively _adored_ Nico. . .to the point where most left, each remarking that they couldn't live up to her standards, that they felt they just weren't good enough to be with her.

Or something like that.

Nico’s level of absolute perfection was somewhat involved in the moments after the ‘we need to talk’, of that much, she’s infallibly certain.

Now, obviously, Nico didn't mean to make them feel inadequate—she can't help that she's _practically_ perfect in every way.

But really, she didn't.

She can't help showering the object of her undying affections with unconditional love. It isn't as if she expects anything in return at all—Nico's a considerate human being, in general, and an even sweeter girlfriend. They just all seem to think that she does?

. . .And they won't even lend their ears to her when she tries to explain that she really doesn't, sigh.

So maybe that's what's got her over the moon with this one (though Maki would probably point out the logical fallacy in that expression, god, does she _ever_ shut up?), how there's this mature, attractive, stand-offish girl who doesn’t back down, someone whose ego might even be a third the size of Nico's own, and who has this strange affinity for telling her off, which is kind of. . .weirdly _hot_ , she supposes, in a way that she's never taken into account before, since she usually gets what she wants, without a word spoken otherwise.

She should really _stop_ overanalyzing these things: there's no logical reason for Nico to worry her pretty little head over someone she won't see until Wednesday, if she still thinks the lectures are worth showing up to (Spoiler alert: she's setting her alarm just so that she can be the first one seated in the hall, not that she's a stickler for punctuality, but something tells her even Maki'd find it extremely difficult to find faults with someone who's so clearly shaping up to be the teacher's pet).

At any rate, it's whatever. Maki just needs to get the damn hell out of her mind, since there’s still the off-chance that the redhead won’t ever warm up to her, or that she already has a girlfriend, or worse, a boyfriend, or worse still, strict parents.

Even on the off-chance that Maki could swallow her heated animosity and boundless wit for more than five seconds, the odds of a blunt confession working its magic on her were slim-to-none (math has never been Nico’s strong suit, but that calculation is pretty difficult to mess up), and the ravenette had no plan B. What was she supposed to do, invite her to a bar and hope that she couldn’t hold her liquor to save her life?

Nico’s fairly sure she’s never had a shoddier idea in her 21 years of life.

Really, the ravenette would love nothing more than to leave it at just that, and nothing further. . . except that’s nigh upon impossible, because the less she tries to think about Maki, the more she does, and her mind’s bringing up things that it wouldn’t’ve otherwise, like ‘is the jacket just for show?’, and ‘does she truly enjoy condescending that much?’. . .

And she particularly doesn’t want to address the nagging question in the recesses of her mind at all, which means that it’s now the only thing on the brain, ugh. Funny how life has a way of doing that to you.

Nico thinks it’s _goddamn_ hilarious.

Her two childhood friends running the only café on campus doesn’t alleviate her problems whatsoever. Before she can remind herself that nothing good has _ever_ come of getting them involved, her phone is unlocked, tightly held in her curled, minute fingertips, and she's dialing Nozomi's number to ask if she's ever given a caramel macchiato to a girl so drop-dead gorgeous that she fainted on the spot (besides Nico, of course—that one's a given).

Nozomi informing her that the cutest girl to ever visit the shop has just taken her break—that’s a serious mood-killer. . .but she gives in to the other girl’s prodding, anyways, and makes up her mind to tolerate the trip for free gourmet coffee (which is honestly the only sensible reason she’d ever risk having her frail chest manhandled).

Eli's of contestable beauty (a close second to Nico’s own) but that’s not quite what Nico’s grumbling about on her walk over.

Perchance, she expected a bit more from the Fates above, and by the way she coarsely shrugs and exasperatedly sighs, in public, of all places, she's not exactly thrilled with the utter deficiency of favor from Lady Luck.

She is a broke college student, though. . .and free _is_ free, so. . .

Maybe the coffee will bring her out of this slump.  _Maybe._

That theory is perhaps the only explanation for the gentle spark in her step as she promenades to the heavenly abode, throwing open the stock-photo door to hear the cheerful welcoming melody of the bell that she alone came up with (read: asked Tsubasa for serious help with), and takes her spot in line. As a necessary courtesy, she smiles warmly and slightly-awkwardly at Nozomi, who's eagerly taking orders—but more so, sneaking glances at Eli, who’s preparing the drinks, with this furtive look in their eyes that suggests how utterly _roguish_ such behavior is, and how no one’s caught on, besides the three of them.

Please.

Nico's convinced any girl with half a brain could look at those two and tell that they were attached to each other at the hip, right off the bat, no questions asked.

And though resigning herself to flicking through her twitter timeline is hardly like her, she's still not quite in the mood to be bubbly _or_ heterosexual, and her mind’s refusal to recuse itself from certain subjects isn’t helping one bit.

It's only when the door is thrown haphazardly open that she perks up, and out of the corner of her eye, she catches a slender figure and a flash of black, with no further outstandingly noticeable qualities present.

Nico has hopes and all, but she’s not about to have them dashed, not again.

So it’s no surprise that within seconds, her eyes are glued to the screen _indifferently_ , her thumb scrolling through at a moderate pace, pausing every so often to save a particular image or take a quick screenshot for later use. Complaints and sighs are no less prevalent than drops of rain during a monsoon, but she’s not totally feeling the whole mopey routine, either. Nico’s stuck in this limbo between lamentation and grief and it makes her feel internally hollow. That’s why she’s standing in this line in the first place: to drown her sorrows with something that she knows they can’t swim in. . .yet.

The realization (on top of her latest selfie receiving 241 likes in just under five hours) leads to this odd sense of ebbing warmth filling her.

. . .Until she's just about to order, and she can't quite figure out her drink of choice.

Now, the last thing she wants is to hold up the line and be subsequently ostracized, especially in her senior year. And it's on the house, yeah, but that doesn't mean she wants to try something like the 'Midnight Mint Mocha Frappuccino Blended Coffee', which she's heard is French for 'you'll gain three pounds per week if you even so much as touch one of these'.

The foot coarsely tapping behind her does absolutely nothing to ameliorate her concentration, and just as she’s on the verge of narrowing down her selections to three sound choices, the sound intensifies and she pivots on her ankle, about to chew the life out of whoever dares to rush her excellency in making such a major life decision.

She’s about to. . . but she doesn’t, partially due to her lack of combat aptitude, but she’s putting the brunt of the blame on her better judgement, because her eyes do a quick once-over, and lo-and-behold, it’s one of those lucky people who she can’t disappoint, since whether she passes or fails a class this semester rides upon their shoulders—she really doesn’t want to put off her career any longer.

❝ You wanted my attention that badly that you had to follow me all the way here, huh, Maki-chan? ❞ she hypothesizes, in a low, sultry growl that hardly befits a lady, but Nico’s not in the mood to care about that too much, since the highlight of her afternoon is right in front of her, and she’d be lying through her teeth if she said free coffee had been at the top of her priorities in life.

❝ Do you think the world revolves around you all the time, or is it just on the days that end in ‘y’? ❞ the redhead sternly snaps back, not amused in the slightest. Feisty, just the way she likes them.

Ugh, Nico’s definitely up against someone who likely doesn’t even crack a laugh at those videos of cute kittens all over YouTube (she’s filing away that theory to test at her leisure), and she’s so easily backed into a corner, in a room that doesn’t quite have any (circular structures weren’t her style, but apparently, the campus architectural team thought it’d be chic, and let Nico tell you, it’s so last century).

❝ I was under the impression that you were teaching music theory, not original insults 101. Guess you’re more than just a pretty face, after all, hm. . .❞

Blotches of vermillion overtake Maki’s cheeks (which isn’t all-that-abnormal, given how Nico has a gift with gab) only because she’s _so_ not interested, and her nose scrunches up, a likely signal that she’s going to _ruthlessly_ eviscerate the ravenette, just as some utter lunatic peaceably points out that they’re holding up the line.

No worries, though—Maki’s family owns a hospital. . .they can totally fix him up, good-as-new, after she’s through with both of them.

Hopefully.

And it’s not that Nico’s not raring to go—if this girl didn’t make her momentarily forget how to breathe, she wouldn’t be holding her punches, period. . .but she was one to pick and choose her battles, and like it or not, having a spat in public wasn’t a wonderful PR move, nor would it earn her points with the missus. Maki didn’t seem like one to enjoy any form of public humiliation, and if the tabloid reporters brought it up, her career would be in shambles, and even worse, her siblings couldn’t grow up basking in the remains of her limelight. She’s got to go for a result besides the obvious, something that doesn’t exacerbate their current enmity, but that forces them to have further chance encounters, and that won’t ever happen if she goes through with this.

So all things considered, it’s for the best that she takes a couple chill pills and orders a caramel macchiato with whipped cream, even though she promised herself she’d stick to her diet. . .

She has this bizarre inkling that she won’t be drinking all of it.

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Maki’s either never ordered a cup of plain coffee, or she’s inhabited a completely different world for her entire lifespan, or she’s never once ordered a normal cup of coffee (‘black, no cream, no sugar, no foam, no. . .anything’).

What draws Nico’s attention, however, is the number of zeroes on the note that Maki so effortlessly slides across the counter. She’s not quite certain she’s ever seen one of those in person, and by Nozomi’s gaping mouth, she’s pretty sure that she hasn’t either, as she’s sort-of scrambling to make change and debating if just giving her the drink is overstepping her bounds. 

Which actually makes Nico’s job easier, in a sense.

It means she can just waltz casually up to the counter, open up her purse, and replace Maki’s total social awkwardness with a few tarnished coins that’ll more than do the trick. It’s only fitting, really, because she should have to pay for something, and granted, she’s not usually so generous, but doing this means that Maki’s now informally obligated to at least sit with her and make small talk (through gritted teeth, indubitably), and that’s definitely a win in Nico’s scorebook.

Nico knows the redhead might act all cool and inflexible, but she’s glimpsed that warm, blushy interior once before, and ripping off that dense, well-knit veil is a sublime intoxication Nico’s not sure she can get enough of, like an opiate for her eyes.

For some odd, god-forsaken reason, Nozomi thinks that’s the _perfect_ time to comment on how charming their little spats can be, asking them when the wedding is, and that means Nico’s capitalizing on the moment and picking up the pace, slyly intertwining her fingertips with Maki’s own and dragging her away so that they’re just out of earshot when it matters most.

Obviously, Maki’s not ecstatic about the unwanted physical contact that’ll ultimately be mistaken as PDA by someone with maggots for grey matter, but she begrudgingly accepts it as just one of those weird college things that she’ll have to get used to? Like staying in the dining hall for the entire weekend, to save money on meals.

She’s had a subpar morning experience at best (although she did receive praise on her very first day from someone who’s quite well-respected within the musical community), so she reserves the right to be just slightly ticked off (read: Nico’s alive only because Maki doesn’t want to go through a lawsuit. . .again), but she _is_ the quintessential saint, a Nishikino, in the flesh, and she’s not about to let someone as uncivilized as this girl completely undermine her impeccable upbringing, especially not like this.

She mutters a discreet ‘thank you’ (regardless of whether she approves of the gesture, her manners precede her) before blowing vigorously on her coffee, and apparently, the tone of her voice isn’t hostile enough, because the ravenette cheerfully responds with a generic-holiday-card-esque ‘anything for a friend!’, and it sounds so forced that she now has her doubts as to whether that’s supposed to imply that they’re friends, or if she’s simply being sarcastic, or what the hell is even going on, because from what little Maki knows of the ‘real world’, getting into petty squabbles with someone isn’t exactly a precursor to holding hands for a fleeting yet agonizing second (she would burn her fingers if they weren’t irreplaceable), and then going on a quaint coffee date with them—not that this was an official date, since she got roped into this completely against her will—,and altogether, it’s nothing short of downright baffling. She doesn’t even know the other’s name, hmph. This entire ordeal has been wholly unfair to her, regardless of if she’s endured graver circumstances.

Whatever.

She just wants to get to the point, here, so she can go home and catch up on much-needed rest (she stayed up until like 3 am being dragged around by Rin and Hanayo to complete their end-of-winter bucket list, and getting up before noon, _sans_ coffee. . . )

But she’s not inciting civil discourse, and neither is the ravenette; no, she’s just slowly sipping her coffee, grimacing each time the hot, nauseating liquid assaulting her tastebuds, and stomaching the acrimonious taste as she swallows.

Meanwhile, this girl—this incessant nuisance—is gleefully guzzling her beverage as if ‘twere the elixir of life itself, which, believe her, caramel macchiatos are, and the burden’s probably on Maki’s shoulders to bear for being so petty, but she wasn’t going to take a challenge to her objective superiority lightly. If she couldn’t weather these simple storms, there wasn’t a way in Hell she could run a world-renowned hospital. Maki’d rather drink this coffee daily than give up her sole birthright.

They go back and forth in this manner, mentally bickering, and this girl has the _audacity_ to childishly giggle at her obvious discomfort. If Maki weren’t in public, she’d exchange a few choice words with the other . . .but they kind of are, so the best she can do is throw her a vitriolic, soul-shattering look that’s probably illegal in seven countries and three provinces.

Like guillotine on a ghost-type Pokémon, it has no effect.

❝ So, what’s your game? ❞ she probes, on the verge of gagging (partially from the coffee’s sheer bitterness, partly because she’s been staring down someone who’d be quite attractive to the deaf and blind), setting her cup firmly on her half of the table before reclining into her chair, rocking gently back and forth. Astonishingly, there’s nothing Maki can figure out from her beady crimson eyes, those devilish orbs no doubt a sign of her inherent evil. She’s kind of wondering if they have an exorcist lined up, and what it would take to lure this girl into a visit. For curiosity’s sake, of course.

And it’s inexplicable, since she always wins the Silent Game, and given that this girl never seems to shut up, her breaking first is a statistical anomaly, at best. Something about her must coax the words out of Maki’s mouth.

❝ _Tsk, tsk,_ Maki’s so rude, can’t Nico enjoy a cup of coffee and a friend’s company without paying a visit to the Public Security Intelligence Agency? ❞

One eyebrow raises, the other lowers, and her head tilts to the left. Maki doesn’t know exactly what she expected, but she knows it’s definitely not that.

Granted, Maki’s so absurdly perfect that she can’t possibly blame this girl—Nico, apparently, whose mother has horrific taste in baby names—for possessing ulterior motives, but she wants to know what they truly are. She’s an inherently curious gal, and Nico’s like the type of person who says she’s an open book, and actually isn’t, period.

❝ Really? Mouthing off to me after class, in line, paying for my drink, even. . .doing certain unspeakable things, all of that seems a bit. . .over the top, for just a friend. ❞

It’s an outlandishly pointed statement, something Maki considers her specialty. Presenting astute and perceptive passive-aggressive conclusions while remaining indifferent altogether was nothing more than second nature to her, and sometimes, she found herself stepping back and wondering if she wasn’t getting _too_ good at it.

According to Nico’s smug expression and metaphorically unruffled feathers, she’s still got a long way to go.

❝ Teach said you were really something else, didn’t she? ❞ she muses, between sips, ❝ The theater department. . .namely yours truly, has been on the lookout for a musical genius half as talented as Nico, you know, just to do a little transcribing, maybe some arranging, give a few critiques on our. . .less-endowed members.

We’re a little short on funds, but I promise you’ll have all the coffee you can drink. With cream _and_ sugar. ❞

Nico broadly smiles and exchanges Maki’s cup for her own, eagerly taking a sip of the dark roast before holding it out, as if expecting a toast.

It’s clearly a one-sided offer (Maki’s talents are worth far more than coffee; she’s positively insulted), but still, it’s rather. . . overtly platonic.

Not that Maki minds, not in the slightest. She’s just. . .expecting more?

After the chaste hand-holding—however brief it might’ve been—, the little spat they’d gotten into before she’d left, she can’t say that there wasn’t a part of her which partially envisioned something along the lines of a baseless confession and a petition for just one chance from this exasperating nuisance.

And not receiving that. . .almost leaves a gaping hole in her stone-cold heart, but it doesn’t, because Maki’s better than that, by far. Her self-confidence is too resolute to be thrown off by a simple child not outspokenly voicing her undying love for someone she’s just met a couple hours ago, duh.

Besides, she was never the slightest bit interested, in the first place, so why does she care, again?

Oh, that’s right: she doesn’t.

All things considered, Maki would have to plead temporary insanity in a court of law, to take Nico up on this deal.

So she picks up Nico’s coffee cup and swirls it so the warm liquid inside sloshes around, and when she’s satisfied with the sound, she brings the drink to her lips and judges it by aroma alone.

Hardly is she dissatisfied; the flavor is. . .surprisingly distinct. Slightly tart, but marvelously rich, no doubt. Miraculous, even. If they were hiring, she might even change her major from pre-med to coffee-brewing.

She’s going to regret this. Wholeheartedly.

There’s not a part of her that considers refusing.

❝ Assuming I’m taking you up on this. . .when do I start? ❞ Maki asks, still marginally dazed, and completely out of her mind, going for another swig, which makes Nico childishly giggle, and she can’t seem to figure out why. Her lavender eyes drift from Nico to the table, then to the cup, and cycles back through, before her eyes narrow and her nose scrunches up.

So that’s where the hints of cherry originated, huh? Maki’s disappointed, gravely so, but not surprised.

. . .Though maybe, just _maybe_ , a part of her isn’t wholly uninterested in sampling the real thing.

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been debating on editing this for weeks now but haven't had the will, so. . .forgive the mistakes. the title is also really cliché...
> 
> i'll probably revise it if it's really rough around the edges. feel free to comment with your favorite part or with my general writing flaws, or with whatever. i can't stop you, i mean.
> 
> tomato out.

**Author's Note:**

> i was unaware the alphabet soup challenge already existed and i thought i actually had a decent idea for once but turns out i was wrong oh well.
> 
> tags will get updated with time, and that rating will eventually be E. . .
> 
> leave me comments if you want and i'll get back to ya' while i'm still on break.
> 
> i'msotiredwhyyyyyyyyyy.


End file.
